Chapter 87: Empty Tome

The four high-tier mages stationed at the gallery entrances immediately raised their staves, attempting to weave a grand defensive barrier around the room.

But the moment their magic touched the air, the corrupted thread mana pulsing from the iron book snapped outward like invisible whips, latching onto the mages’ staves.

SPARK!

BZZZT!

The mages’ spell circles instantly shattered, collapsing into bursts of useless grey smoke.

“My spell… my mana flux is jammed!” one of the grand mages yelled in pure panic, staring at his glowing staff in disbelief. “Something is choking the mana lines in my core!”

Panic erupted across the Glass Gallery. Wealthy trade lords scrambled over velvet couches, noblewomen shrieked as they rushed toward the exit doors, and guards drew their weapons in complete confusion as their magic failed to activate.

The hooded man stood up from his seat in the top row, sweeping his dark indigo cloak back to reveal four heavily armed mercenaries wearing dark grey leather armor and bone masks.

“Retrieve the Tome of the Unknown,” the hooded man commanded in his cold, rasping voice. “Kill anyone who stands in your way.”

“Understood, Master Greg!” the four bone-masked mercenaries shouted in unison. They drew long, serrated shortswords black with poison, leaping over the upper balcony railings and dropping straight onto the auction stage!

The owl auctioneer shrieked, diving behind his obsidian podium as the mercenaries slashed down the stone pedestal with a heavy iron hammer!

BANG!

The stone pedestal shattered into fragments, sending the heavy, chained iron book tumbling across the wooden stage floor, right toward the edge where our velvet couch sat.

“Colleen, get behind Father!” Marquis Aaron roared, pulling a massive officer’s sabre from his waist.

Despite the magic-jamming field in the room, the Marquis relied on his formidable physical strength, stepping forward to block two approaching mercenaries with a powerful, sweeping slash of his blade!

CLANG!

Metal clashed violently, sending sparks flying through the dim, chaotic room.

In the middle of the terror and confusion, one of the bone-masked mercenaries broke past the Marquis’s guard line, his poisoned shortsword raised high as he lunged straight toward the iron book sitting on the floor just three feet away from where Tibbar and I were standing.

“The book is ours!” the mercenary hissed, reaching his gloved hand out to grab the black chains.

“Silvester, watch out!” Tibbar screamed, diving behind a marble pillar while clutching his cane.

I didn’t run.

I didn’t panic.

As the mercenary reached for the iron tome, my eye scanned the structural composition of the room, the falling chandelier, the jammed doors, and the chaotic web of black thread mana filling the air.

The corrupted energy was choking everyone’s mana cores because it operated on a high-frequency vibration designed to disrupt traditional spell-weaving. To a standard wizard, it was an absolute counter to magic.

To a Locksmith who controlled the fundamental concepts of ‘OPEN’ and ‘CLOSE’?

It was just an improperly tuned tumbler waiting to be reset.

I flicked my left wrist downward.

SNIKT.

Four ultra-fine star-iron needles with a mix of a metal that I found in a secret laboratory years ago, extended three inches from my Dragon Bracelet, catching the faint violet ambient light of the gallery.

I stepped directly into the mercenary’s path, my left hand shooting out with blinding speed.

I didn’t strike his chest. I didn’t target his poisoned blade.

I jammed the acoustic resonance needle of my bracelet directly into the small brass latch of the mercenary’s leather shoulder harness!

“What—?” the mercenary gasped in confusion.

“Close,” I commanded in my mind.

My golden core flared. A concentrated pulse of pure, refined golden mana surged through the star-iron needle, injecting directly into the mercenary’s armor latch and expanding into his internal physical mana channels.

The concept of ‘CLOSE’ didn’t just lock the brass latch. It forcefully locked the muscular contractions in the mercenary’s right arm!

SNAP!

The mercenary’s arm instantly froze in mid-air, his muscles locking rigid like cold stone. The sudden, violent halt in his momentum caused him to lose his balance completely, stumbling forward and crashing headfirst onto the hard marble floor right at my feet!

“What did you do to my arm?!” the mercenary shrieked, squirming on the floor as his right arm remained pinned to his side, completely paralyzed.

I didn’t answer him.

I turned smoothly, stepping over his squirming body, and stood directly over the ancient iron book.

The dark, corrupted threads pulsing off the black chains twitched furiously, sensing my presence.

They reached out like tiny tendrils, trying to invade my hands and choke my golden core just as they had done to the grand mages.

I looked down at the writhing black lock on the book’s spine.

“You’re in my shop’s territory now,” I whispered softly.

I knelt down, pressing my right palm flat against the cold black iron of the book, while guiding the flexible pick shaft of my Dragon Bracelet straight into the central keyway of the tome chains.

My golden mana surged out, bright, warm, and absolute, clashing violently against the dark, corrupted threads.

“Let’s see what you’re hiding inside,” I murmured.

The flexible star-iron pick on my wrist-rig slipped into the tiny keyway of the black padlock. I focused my mind, sending a steady wave of my golden mana straight into the internal mechanism.

The dark threads of energy around the book fought back instantly, squirming like aggressive little worms to choke my mana flow.

I did not try to blast through them with brute force. Instead, I used my Locksmith’s Eye skill to read the exact pattern of the internal tumblers.

I aligned my golden mana to match the vibration frequency of the black metal, then I pushed the concept of my authority straight into the core of the lock.

OPEN.

A sharp, high-pitched crack echoed through the stage. The thick black chains around the iron book instantly lost their glowing aura. The oily black thread mana surrounding the cover sizzled away into thin air, leaving nothing behind but a faint stink of burnt hair.

The heavy lock popped open with a solid metallic thud. The black chains loosened, sliding off the dark iron binding and clattering onto the wooden floorboards.

I reached down and picked up the heavy tome. The cold iron cover felt surprisingly smooth in my hands. I opened the book, flipping through the thick parchment pages with my thumb.

Page after page went by. Every single one of them was completely blank.

There were no glowing runes. There were no ancient maps. There were no spell diagrams or written histories. It was just hundreds of pages of blank, pale parchment sitting inside an ancient iron shell.

“Are you serious right now?” I muttered under my breath, staring down at the clean white pages in total confusion. “Why would anyone wrap four layers of soul-steel chains around an empty notebook? Is this a joke?”

Before I could think about it any further, a loud commotion broke out near the upper balcony.

“Do not move!” Captain Dolman yelled, his heavy broadsword pointed straight at the chest of the bone-masked mercenary I had paralyzed on the floor.

Over by the balcony archway, three armored wolf guards had surrounded the hooded leader named Master Greg and his remaining three men. Their escape route was completely blocked by the palace security team.

“Unmask him right now!” Marquis Aaron commanded, stepping forward with his sharp saber held ready. “I want to know who ordered an attack on the High Council assembly!”

Captain Dolman reached out his heavy gauntleted hand, grabbing the edge of Vane’s dark indigo hood and yanking it back.

Beneath the hood was the pale, hollow face of a middle-aged man with sunken cheeks and dark grey veins bulging around his neck. His eyes were milky white, completely devoid of any natural pupils.

“Speak!” Marquis Aaron growled, stepping closer. “Who sent you here? What were you trying to steal from this palace?”

Greg looked at the Marquis, a creepy, unnatural grin spreading across his pale lips. “You fools know nothing,” he rasped, his voice sounding like dry leaves scraping across stone. “The master’s reach is already beneath your feet. The seal is breaking, and our mission will—”

Before Greg could finish his sentence, his eyes suddenly widened in pure agony.

A sickening wet sound echoed through the silent gallery.

Dozens of razor-thin black mana threads burst outward from beneath Greg’s skin. They shot out from his neck, his cheeks, his chest, and his eyes, shredding his body from the inside out like hundreds of tiny needles.

The three bone-masked mercenaries around him screamed in horror as the exact same thing happened to them.

Black thread mana flared violently inside their chests, instantly destroying their internal organs before any of them could utter another word.

“Arrgh!” the mercenary lying paralyzed at my feet gasped, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as black lines spread rapidly across his throat.

Within three seconds, all five attackers collapsed onto the marble floor. Their bodies twitched once, twice, and then went completely still. Black oily liquid leaked from their eyes and mouths, dissolving their flesh into grey ash right in front of our eyes.

The entire gallery fell into a terrified silence.

Enjoying the journey? Don’t let the adventure stop here!